


to find what none could sell you.

by scvenreasons (actuallyitsstar)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, E NJOY, Family Feels, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Multi, Other, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Team Bonding, Team as Family, also all this store stuff is legit i worked in a drugstore as a cashier for a year, idk man, this has taken way too long but im proud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 09:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyitsstar/pseuds/scvenreasons
Summary: there was a morning when chris larabee's entire world fell apart, and he didn't have enough pieces left anymore to rebuild it. he's a regular customer at his local corner drugstore, the sole market investor of jack daniels whiskey in the large bottle, and a well-known fixture of the store's commerce. it's funny how much people who don't really know you might think about you, might care about you- and it's funny how one small change can lead to a whole new life you never saw coming. it is to everyone's great excitement when they can see the new pieces chris has acquired- when they can see the the world that he's rebuilt.(as chris builds team seven, his life changes for the better; this story is told from the perspective of a cashier at the store).
Relationships: Chris Larabee & Buck Wilmington, Chris Larabee & Ezra Standish, Chris Larabee & J.D. Dunne, Chris Larabee & Josiah Sanchez, Chris Larabee & Nathan Jackson, Chris Larabee & Original Female Character(s), Chris Larabee & Vin Tanner
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45





	1. nulla (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> just bear with me on this one, kids- i swear it's gonna be good! like the description says, this is told from the pov of a cashier in the drugstore, but there's all kinds of team bonding action with your favorite seven atf agents. i really hope you enjoy it!

Retail can be a boring job, but if you like people, it isn't so bad, Grace thinks. Especially since she likes getting paychecks more than she cares about whether or not her first job is a dream job. Of course, she doesn't particularly enjoy the loss of time that adult, working life is... her friends and she have found it increasingly difficult to connect with one another since they've all began to take steps to independence. But overall, she doesn't think she got the bad end of the deal.

Something nice about working in your community's drugstore is that you get to know your customers, and some of them, you already knew. You start to feel kind of like you matter to them, when they come in and know you by name, and Grace hopes that they feel well attended to for this as well.

Some customers don't have a lot to say though. Some customers don't seem very interested in building a rapport with their friendly neighborhood clerk at all, and Grace isn't particularly offended- people can do as they like. But, that won't stop her from putting the same attention on those customers as all of the others.

There's Melinda, a short, serious woman who works in the administration at the local bank. Grace always feels as though joking with Melinda is not allowed, which makes their interactions a little awkward. Joyce, who is the choir lady at the local church, is very particular about everything and always has something to complain about, or attempt to school you on. Grace plows through these interactions as fast as she can, feigning incredible busyness due to her extreme discomfort.

But there's someone else who falls into this category... someone different. She doesn't know his name, and neither do her coworkers who've been there longer. She's asked them about him- she couldn't help it. Her curiosity will be the death of her, she supposes, and Alice always warns her of this. If only her sensible brunette friend knew the extent of her desire for the gossip! No one knows his name, but he's a well-known regular. Everyone saw it in the papers when it happened. It's been a few years now, but his family, killed in a tragic attack, one that some claim to know was meant for him. A car bomb on his truck, a day he drove her car to work for some reason that was perfectly sensible at the time. The papers had been plastered with little else in the days that followed.

Apparently, that man had been rather plastered in the years that followed, too. That's a joke one man who overheard them talking about it one Saturday night made. They had laughed politely but Grace didn't find it very funny.

Every two to four days, like clockwork, he comes into the store. Grace has learned not to say, "Can I help you find anything today?" because he always shakes his head no. He knows where to go and he knows what he's getting. By now, she knows too, as does everyone else in the store.

After less than a minute he has returned from the alcohol isle with the same exact bottle of whiskey. He already has his money ready, and as soon as she's greeted him and reached to scan the bottle, he's shown her his ID and recited his birth date. She wouldn't normally have to check his ID, as he looks to be in his late thirties or early forties, but she always thanks him and inputs the information anyway. She's also learned not to ask him if he has or would like to get a store card. He doesn't, and he wouldn't.

He never says much. If there's a long line, or if some technical difficulty creates a longer interaction where she has to call for help and get someone to resolve some issue in the transaction, he will joke here and there or smile and politely assure her he doesn't mind waiting. Sometimes if it's very busy he'll make some small talk with someone else in line- but it always sounds a little forced to Grace. Everything he does and says sounds a little forced to Grace though, and she doesn't want to read too much into it.

But, how can she help it? She's always had a tenancy to do just that, and even if her friends always chide her, it hasn't stopped her yet. On the way home from work she'll consider his situation and feel a sort of sinking feeling. She doesn't know him, but she regrets that she doesn't. She always silently wishes him the best but she doesn't think he has it. From what little she knows, it seems to her like he would really deserve it for once.

There are so many tragic implications she could read into- the first being that she's only ever seen him alone, his solemn attitude much of time, and the fact that she's only ever seen him wearing all black, as if the void, absence of color swallows him up no matter what he does. He obviously goes through an entire bottle of whiskey by himself in an alarmingly short period of time, and based on his unstopping visits to their store, no one he knows is intervening with that. He doesn't want to get a store card, and Grace has wondered darkly if it's because he wouldn't like to bother or because he never plans to be back.

And, this endless cycle continues on for almost a year. She finally makes up her mind about school and decides to attend. She can't afford to go to an incredibly expensive one like Patty can, but her friend's well-to-do lifestyle benefits don't bother her too much. The local college allows her to be home enough to maintain a reasonable amount of hours at her retail job, and she can split her time as well as she can. She's never been a very driven individual, but she's enjoyed the classroom experience thus far.

The routine of her job has begun to swallow Grace, taking away some of the fun of her job. She doesn't mind too much, and she doesn't grow to dislike the work, but she does find the constant chains of events and people and places to be swallowing her in their stagnation at times. It would be nice if something, even something small, could shake it up.

It turns out that sometimes, when you wish for something, you get more than you bargained for.


	2. i. (hawaiian shirts + dashing charm)

One early spring evening at about seven o'clock, the doors to the drugstore slide open and Grace automatically turns from the sale ad she is blandly memorizing to greet this newcomer. The fake-voiced greeting gets stuck in her mouth, though, when her green eyes land on this customer. It is her black-clad whiskey drinker, which in and of itself is in no way unusual. No, the differentiation of this visit is that he seems to have... brought a friend?

This friend is tall, though just a tiny bit shorter than the taller blonde wearing all black, and wears a Hawaiian shirt that every style-forward individual she knows would like to see promptly set on fire. Even with this fashion travesty, the pants he's wearing clearly display taste and an understanding to how clothes ought to fit one's body, and his mustache and hair are well-groomed. He's wearing a bright, charming smile and he gives her a nod, breaking off for a moment from whatever low-voiced conversation he and the tall blonde have been invested in to say, "Hi there, darlin'," to her, which makes her swallow and nod in return. That is a much brighter greeting than she's used to getting. He's probably about thirty-six, she thinks, so that's certainly not an avenue she's taking anywhere- but she can enjoy the moment.

As the two walk past her counter, she can overhear some of what they're saying. The mustached man is speaking to the older blonde, much more serious in expression than he had previously been. "...and all that's left for me is the background check. And hell, last time I broke the law was with you, old dog, so if they're lettin' the likes of you into their midst, I guess I don't have anything to worry about there." At the last, he breaks back into the charming grin, and the blonde shakes his head, cracking a small, surprisingly genuine-seeming smile that she's never seen before. 

"You trying to say you've cleaned up your act, Buck?" Ah, so the man of the mustache has a name, and that seems to be it. She scans the ad more intensely, very determined to feign her concentration to a believable degree. It would hardly be polite or professional to be seen trying to eavesdrop on her regular and his friend.

She still can't believe he has a friend.

Buck throws back his head and laughs, elbowing the blonde in the side just a bit too hard as they move past her hearing range, and instead of being annoyed, the black-clad man rolls with the punches, although his pretend offence is certainly amusing. "Nothing so drastic as that," Buck quips, grinning. "Just a little less breakin' the law, is all. A cop's gotta keep up a reputation but you know, that rule book doesn't say nothing about having a good time with the ladies."

Grace can hardly believe her ears when the black-clad man laughs- actually laughs!- as they round the distant corner to the alcohol isle. Is this a fever dream? She's always imagined what the whiskey man must do when he gets home. She's imagined him sitting alone in his living room, a shot glass in hand. Or, worse yet, stood before his kitchen window staring blankly into the night, holding the entire bottle. She's always felt a sort of a dark cloud around him, every time she interacts with him. Like Charlie Brown's own personal rain cloud from the Peanuts cartoons, a shroud of the void he's dressed in that pools at his feet and splashes onto her hands sometimes when she reaches to scan the whiskey's seemingly innocent barcode. A barcode she's envisioned getting blood on its hands someday if he didn't slow down his drinking.

Eventually the two come back towards her range of hearing. "...we'll get access to the office space on Monday," the blonde is saying. "and you're officially retired from the force by then, right? You'll be free to start getting your government checks." 

Buck nods and chuckles. "Never thought I'd be dippin' into Uncle Sam's pockets," he comments, glancing at his friend. "So then we just, what? Build the team? Sounds simple enough."

"I don't know," the other says thoughtfully, and by then they're reaching her counter once more. "Gonna be tough to find the right people. I've been told I don't always play well with others."

Buck places a six-pack of beer on the counter, and the taller man puts a bottle next to it. "Hell, Chris," Buck is telling him, "that's the understatement of the year. You don't always put your best foot forward."

And just like that, Grace has attached a name to the tragic regular she has known to be shrouded in mystery for almost two years of her life. She moves toward the pair, dropping into her automatic script for customer interactions. _Hello. Did they find everything okay today? Is there anything else she can help with? Do they have a store card? No? Would they like to get one? _ She notes that the six-pack of beer is clearly the influence of Chris' friend, and that Chris, for his part, has chosen the same whiskey he always chooses, but in the smaller sized bottle this time. Somehow, that seems like character development. She much prefers the idea of the black-clad man and this Buck fellow sitting about drinking beer and talking about old times than of Chris drowning alone of the brown liquid pain reliever.

They depart from the store still talking and laughing, and for some reason, Grace feels a little bit lighter after- even if Chris still doesn't want a store card.


	3. ii. (long hair + silent connections)

It's a cheerful summer evening when the next such encounter occurs. It's been rather dead in the store, as the clerks always phrase it, and they've had time and then some to do the daily tasks that are often neglected in the face of a busy night. With these completed. Grace leans on the counter, staring blankly into space, wondering how on earth it's only been three minutes since she last looked at the clock when it feels like an eternity. The scrape of the sliding doors snaps her spine to attention as fast as she can get it there, and she calls out a greeting to the customers who enter- her eyes widening in surprise, but her professional customer service tone is the catch all of any unexpected emotion she might not want the customers to pick up on when they come into the store.

She's only seen her black-clad whiskey drinker a few times since the one with his mustached friend Buck, and he's always bought the smaller sized bottle. He's also bought those bottles further apart. She's felt happy about it, hoping he's getting somewhere good in life, and now here he is again with a new source of confusion for her: a new stranger is walking in step with him.

This man is definitely younger, and has a longer haircut than his tall blonde friend. He walks in perfect time with Chris and gives her a tiny smile and a polite nod as they round through the entrance. His hands are casually placed in his pockets, and there are currently no words being spoken between the two. And even within their silence, Grace can sense something different about the man in black, something more calm and at ease, a wound bandaged. Chris, for his part, gives her a small smile that means so much more than the blankly polite expressions she's gotten from him for years. She returns it.

As they approach the alcohol isle, a different customer comes up to Grace in search of the ice cooler. Brightly offering to walk her to it, she leads the way there, which ends with the two of them in a position where she can clearly see the isle her regular and his friend have gone into.

The two come to a stop in front of their selection of whiskies and begin eyeing the shelves. She sees Chris reach for his usual, large bottle of the hard stuff, but the quiet man catches his eye and gives him a look. Grace finds the whole thing difficult to read but apparently the blonde doesn't. He rolls his eyes and puts the bottle back. "You're no fun, Vin. Anybody ever tell you that?" 

Vin sort of laughs without really doing it, shrugging. "More or less, but not in so many words. How about some beer, cowboy?"

Grace really has no excuse for still being there so, a smile tugging on her face, she turns back to her cashier duties feeling just a bit better about the man in black- especially with two people to watch out for him.


	4. iii. (big grins + careful wisdom)

It's a busy night in early November, the buildup to the artificial retail Christmas rush just beginning and the steady stream of customers in the door making it difficult for them to get anything done other than ring up orders all day. Even in all the buzz, though, Grace has been watching that door like a hawk for her favorite regular, and it's been weeks since she's seen him. Before all the changes to his usual style she would have been very concerned if he had dropped off on his regular visits like that, but now it has a different feel, a lighter one.

Her eyes are still delighted to fall on him as he walks in the door, calling out her most cheerful greeting. As he moves behind the crowd that sifts her view, she comes to the realization that yet again he is not alone. This time, his newest friend is even taller than him- taller and bigger. The man looks like he could lift about half her current line of customers over his head at once. He's not necessarily muscular but he looks strong, and he's a giant compared to even the tall man she has known of for so long. She doesn't think they can hear her greeting, but that's okay. With the crowds they're trying to hold down the fort for, she hardly has the time to be concerned about what they are or are not doing or thinking.

In the next five minutes, however, she's swamped, and of all the amazingly timed opportunities for it to stop working, now is the time when the phone paging system takes a turn for the worst. Maybe she can get rid of the line by herself if she hurries- it's a hopeful thought busted by a strange technical issue with the register that she can't solve. Adrenaline of a busy night coursing in her retail-hardened veins, Grace promises a speedy return to rude and annoyed customers whose unhelpful complaints she pays little mind to, and goes running down the oral care isle in search of her manager. She's pretty sure she last heard the pager working when her manager was called to the pharmacy for assistance with their equally stressful lines and demands. The front store, however, takes policy priority, especially to a manger whose job description does not place them in the pharmacy. Trying to push her way past the lines to the counter of the place, her eyes land on the Giant and her old regular. 

By all rights, they should be shoved up against the walls by the thirty or so people trying to get their prescriptions at that exact moment, but something inherent and indescribable about Chris creates a natural bubble of personal space around him, no one willing to get too close. Of course, the intimidating size of his friend likely helps that image along, but she can understand what everyone senses. She's always sensed it too. They're scrutinizing bottles of medicated creams on an end-cap, and the friend is squinting down at his phone, which is a very large model that looks average sized at best in his hands. Trying to shoulder as politely as she can into the crowd, she can't help but overhear their words.

The bigger friend reads something off his phone. "He says it's a red bottle."

"Bottle or tube?"

There's a pause as this question is relayed and another as a message is soon received. "Could be either, depends on the brand."

"That isn't good."

"You doubt your faith in me, brother?" The taller man offers Chris a grin that's all teeth, but not at all in an unpleasant way.

Chris smirks. "Sure would hate to listen to a sun-burnt Texan for the rest of this weekend."

The other man's smile evaporated. "We had best get the right one."

Chris merely nods in response, and the two are soon scrutinizing the shelves with maximum intensity. Grace doesn't have time to zero in, or to wonder just what sort of bizarre happenings you'd have to be doing for a sunburn to happen to you in November, as she calls for her manager's attention and, having been promised a swift return to the front of the store, she begins her power walk back to the counter to be berated by her own personal angry mob.

It's after several minutes of frustration, forced smiles and stressed interaction that she sees the two men in her line, having chosen what must have been the right thing , they seem perfectly comfortable standing in the long line, talking with one another. As they move closer, though, Grace realizes that it's not just each other they're talking to. Several people in other lines or who are brushing by to make their way to the pharmacy are pausing to give the larger man a slap on the back and an enthusiastic hello. He is polite, nodding back and exchanging greetings and meaningless similes on the state of his life at present, watching after them as they hurry away.

"You always this popular?" Chris asks of him.

He turns his gaze back ahead to the line in front of him, his expression as much of a shrug as his shoulders didn't convey. "You'd get popular too, if you retired early after twenty years in the same department."

Chris offers him a darkly cheerful smile. "I don't think I have that kind of potential." The other man raises an eyebrow in question of that, so Chris clarifies. "To last twenty years on a force or to get popular for anything good."

The other man shakes his head with a small smile. "You could say I've lived in this city a little too long. And I've done a little too much. And yet, I haven't done nearly enough." He makes a real shrugging motion this time, moving ever closer to Grace with the rest of the line. "Such is the human experience of community. Can't live with or without it. A funny thing." At this moment, a very boisterous man cuts into the line to slap him on the shoulder and offer him his congratulations on an early retirement. The man shuffles ahead in the line along with them, partially blocking the next register and offending the people ahead of them all in line, who turn to glare. A short man in front growls, "Must you?" 

The older man is unshaken, grinning at him. "C'mon, you wouldn't get so mad with a guy like my old buddy J'siah here, would ya?" He laughs and turns to Chris, who has a look in his eyes Grace can't label as anything other than negative and controlled. "Could rip a tree in half, this one. Gotta watch out! Say, you know about that time in Charleston?"

Before anyone can say anything else, Grace calls for the next customer and the friend, who has now been identified to her as a sightly mispronounced version of the name Josiah, pats the man on the shoulder and pushes past him. "Good to see you, Steve... Maybe we'll catch up some time. See you around, alright?" And already he's placing he and Chris' tube of lotion-like medication on the counter.

As Grace rings up the order- which includes that smaller size of Chris' whiskey, but with the addition of a liter of soda- Chris, who has his hands at his sides in a silence that is neither impolite nor welcoming to the crowd around them in line, turns to Josiah. "Charleston, huh?"

The two of them throw down money for each of their halves of the cost, and Grace counts their change in silence. Josiah gives him a somewhat tighter smile than she had seen earlier. "Been known to have a little trouble with turnin' the other cheek."

"Care to explain that a little bit?"

Josiah picks up the bag as Grace passes their change off to Chris, who gives her a nod of recognition to her rushed, "have a nice day!" as they start to back away.

Josiah shakes his head. "If you're so sure about Nathan, ask him, he ought to know."

"Depends on how good his suggestions are."

Josiah holds up the bag, laughing a little. "Guaranteed to do the trick- physically, anyway. Not even Nate's got a remedy for that independent streak of his."

They're moving to the threshold of the store as Chris smiles, shaking his head. "Well, maybe so. At the very least we could use another set of hands to hold him down with."

The bits and pieces of this story are difficult for Grace to process in the stressful moment, and hardly any of her business, but she feels happy to know that her mysterious man in black has a life outside of his brown-bottled liquid for her to speculate on at all, and that he has people to do it with. Maybe he really is finding the life she always wished he had. The idea, though certainly not her place to feel so strongly about, brings her a certain calm to consider.

But he still hadn't wanted a store card.


	5. iv. (stubborn pride + affluent taste)

It's a rotten day in January, the kind of day when the sun beats down on an icy, dead world covered in off-white, grime-coated snowflakes, but does not a thing to warm it up. The kind of day where you can see your breath and hear the brittle low of the temperature in the air outside, but it looks like a suburban hellscape, not a winter wonderland. The kind of day that befalls you halfway in to a Colorado winter and leaves you feeling destitute, abandoned by the warmth of the sun that you have, to be frank, forgotten the feeling of since the last time you had the privilege- it must have been August or September.

Grace halfheartedly works on emptying a box of overstock from the back room that is due to be addressed; wondering if it's possible for her to drag the task out so far that it won't have to be completed before it's time for her to go home and still get away with it. Misleading sunshine blasts through the window, directly into her eyes. She should close the blinds, but she just doesn't feel like it. And besides, there's no one in the store to complain to her about it.

Or, there wasn't.

But the sliding doors shudder open and she looks up from her mind numbing tasks to offer her best _definitely sound of mind greeting,_ and is pleasantly surprised to see Chris entering the store. She's seen him a few times in the last month, popping in to grab a small whiskey bottle and some kind of beer or maybe even a case of iced coffee, which was a fully new addition to his purchasing habits, in her store anyway. He always came in to get something for the weekend, but the implications no longer suggested that it was just for him. The visits took on a different tone because of that. Today, just like other days, has a similar vibe- something is different about it, even more different from the dedicated but self-deprecating man she had encountered in her checkout line around Christmas. And even then, that state had seemed like a massive improvement.

He gives her a small smile and a nod, but she watches as he stops just inside the door and slowly looks to either side. Frowning, he takes a step backwards, and then another, disappearing from her line of sight into the lobby between the two sets of sliding doors. He's gone for a long moment, and Grace finds herself standing still, waiting. What was that about? Was it something she said? Then-

-he re-enters her vision, but this time much slower, and held very carefully to one side of him is another man. Once again, Grace doesn't recognize him, but she immediately has a difficult time placing the two of them together in her mind. The stranger is wearing a suit that to Grace's inexperienced eye, appears to cost more than her life is worth. It is tailored to fit him exactly; certainly more impressive than the occasional and mildly frumpy suits she sees on men after Sunday services. There is a significant looking bandage on his forehead, and he doesn't seem to be enjoying his experience in the store, to say the least.

_"Mr. Larabee-"_

"Chris," comes the interjected correction from the owner of the name. His new friend does not acknowledge this.

"-I am a fully grown, independent adult, and while I recognize that perhaps-"

"Never said you weren't," Chris affirms, but again is ignored.

"-your past family experience leads you to conclude that this is what I would appreciate most in this situation-"

_"Ezra."_

"-it most certainly is not."

Grace steps back into the edge of her isle, not wanting to be the creepy store employee who outwardly listens in on her customers. Of course, she is just that, only she has the smallest amount of dignity that leads her to hide it. So, she's a gossip and she's a liar, she thinks dryly. What fantastic news. Despite this conclusion, she edges forward, just enough that she can sort of see what's happening through a display of laundry soap.

"Ezra," Chris repeats, addressing this friend by name, "this's got nothing to do with what you appreciate and a hell of a lot more to do with whether or not Nathan kills me because you fall down and make that hole on your head bigger. Especially if you do it because you're being a stubborn son of a bitch." Chris adjusts his grip on the man- up until this point, he has walked directly beside him with a hand on each of his arms, which are at Ezra's sides, and they have moved very slowly across the threshold. Now, he grips the nearest elbow with both hands, forcing the suit-wearing man to meet his eyes. "Can you keep your balance now?"

"I take great umbrage to the idea-"

"Answer the question."

"Of course I can."

Chris merely raises an eyebrow. Ezra sighs.

"I hope so. Let us just... complete our mission here and then return. I would like very much to go to bed."

They have begun the slow-motion trek across the store, Chris patiently maintaining a steadying hold on Ezra and the former looking very concentrated in his efforts to maintain the pace they are moving at. Chris nods in response to Ezra's words. "I can imagine. Hope you don't mind a little dog hair, though," the last with a chuckle at a picture only in his mind.

They are rounding the corner toward the medicines in the back, but Grace can still just see their faces. Ezra looks confused. "I haven't got a dog," he says distantly.

"No," Chris says patiently. "But I do."

Grace is left to entertain herself once they move down the alcohol isle, towards the sections of over-the-counter medication. It's an interesting juxtaposition to how she is used to seeing her regular customer- with his silently demanded bubble of personal space and quietly self-deprecating attitude caught up in the cloud around his head. Seeing him in charge of someone else, especially someone he seems to care about, puts him in an entirely different light. 

They're back there for a surprisingly long time, and Grace has returned to the Herculean task of trying not to do any work, when she comes across a package of paper goods in the bottom of the box. Strange, since everything else in the box went with the hair care products. Soaking in the chance for minor variety, she takes the package with her to its home on the other side of the store from her post, and is surprised to nearly bump into Chris and his friend when she rounds the corner from the paper goods isle.

They are standing in the alcohol section, which is just a few feet from the paper towels, and Chris looks very impatient. Ezra seems very determined, in contrast, studying the wine selection they offered with great interest.

"Hurry up," Chris prods, in a huff.

"It is a shame that something of a higher caliber is not available to us here. And to think you make all of your alcohol purchases at this establishment." She steps back out of sight, trying not seem as though she's following them through the store, but she can still hear Ezra lamenting the wine selection.

"It's a drugstore, not the Taj Mahal. Pick something."

"You know that the Taj Mahal does not serve alcoholic beverages."

_"Ezra."_

"Fine! Fine." There's another moment of silence before she hears the clink of metal against glass, and she glances around the corner to see Ezra choosing a bottle of wine, the ring on that hand colliding with the bottle. Chris immediately alleviates him of the responsibility, apparently not trusting his grip on the fragile product. 

"Okay, let's go," Chris sighs, gesturing toward the cash register in a mixture of tired frustration and evident concern.

Grace makes a hasty retreat to the register, waiting in perfect patience for them to approach with their items. Eventually, she sees them coming, moving slowly. Chris is no longer holding onto Ezra, who is wearing a different expression than she had observed earlier. If it wasn't for the bandage and the slower speed, as well as what she had seen earlier, she wouldn't know he was suffering from any kind of head injury at all. They place their products on the counter, and Grace falls into her routine, ringing up the order and asking all the correct questions at the correct times.

An anti-nausea medication, the wine, and something for migraine headaches. "You know you can't drink that until we're sure you don't have a concussion," Chris comments.

Ezra merely rolls his eyes. "I do not have any such thing, and I'm not a child. You don't have to supervise me. I can drink whatever I like."

Chris scowls at him. "You brave enough to say that to Nathan?" He is met with utter silence, and he smirks a bit, nodding. "That's what I thought."

Grace places the medications into one plastic bag, and the wine into a paper bag with handles, sliding them towards Chris on the counter and reading out their totals. Ezra contributes the money for his wine, and tries to pay for all of it, but Chris threatens to shoot him, so he backs down and lets the other split the bill, looking only mildly chagrined.

As she gathers and counts the money, entering it into the register and placing it in the drawer, she watches out of the corner of her eye as Ezra discreetly grips the edge of the counter top with white knuckles. Chris seems to be noticing this too, subtly raising a hand near the vicinity of the middle of his back, in case of impending collapse. "If you were a grown man you'd stay in the hospital like you're supposed to, you damn fool."

"I fail to see how such an action would do anything to mark my independence," Ezra murmurs, watching with somewhat glazed eyes as Grace hands Chris his change. 

"Never mind," Chris sighs in resignation. "C'mon. We're gonna go to the ranch and then you'll be Nathan's problem.... and mine too, I guess." He grips the man's elbow on the side across from Grace, where it's harder for her to see, and grabs the handles of the bags with his free hand. 

"Have a great night," Grace wishes them in a somewhat questioning tone- it doesn't sound like that's possible, but she can only say so much to strangers that she doesn't have any business knowing as much about as she does. Chris gives her a somewhat sarcastic smile and a_ sure thing_ expression, turning away to lead his concussed charge out of the store.

It seems that this entire interaction is a way for the man in black to focus on something other than himself and have something to care about. He seems surprisingly suited to the roll, even though it also includes his building frustration. Grace thinks back to earlier, when his friend had referenced his past family experience and what it might lead Chris to "believe" about how he wants to be treated- and thinks about the regulars who joked about how Chris had fallen off the face of their worlds after the unspoken accident. Maybe this kind of thing is good for him.

Then, she glances up just in time to see Ezra giving her a nod of departure, but just before he turns completely away to follow Chris out the door, he flashes her a wink and a tiny little half smirk, just as Chris growls a stern "Hurry _up_," and he backs away to follow his friend outside.

Maybe some of his friends know just as much about that as she likes to think she does.


	6. v. (stitches + nervous energy)

"Miss! Miss. Uh, can you help me? It's pretty important."

Grace nearly tumbles from the stepladder she struggles to reach the top shelves with, as a kid who doesn't look much older than her comes skidding around the corner and nearly collides with it, begging of her attention with palpable urgency. She plasters on her customer service smile, steadying herself on the shelving. "Of course. What do you need?"

"I need like.... a lot of medical stuff. I don't really... know what exactly. But I'm supposed to get one of everything, I guess." He runs a nervous hand through almost black hair, switching between legs like a grasshopper. 

Grace nods, trying to exude some sense of calm that will prevent him from giving her a nervous breakdown by osmosis. "Oh. I see." How is she supposed to respond to that? What does that even mean? Who told him what he was supposed to get? Is he covering for a serial killer? Did he accidentally almost murder someone? How can you run into a drug store and demand to purchase one of everything and imagine that someone won't contact the emergency services?

She steps down off the ladder, motioning him to follow her. They enter their first aid section, and she makes a sweeping gesture with both hands. "This is where all those kinds of products are. We're not qualified to give any medical advice, and we recommenced that you consult with the pharmacist if you have any serious questions, but, uh..... what are you trying to do?"

"I can't really explain it," the young man hedges. "Basically my friends and I were hanging out? And somebody thought it would be funny to-" he pauses for a long moment, and then winds up just shaking his head. "No, I really can't explain it. Just... What do you have for emergency stitches?"

Grace feels her eyes widen. "You know how to do stitches?"

"No... but my friend does."

After a small hesitation, Grace decides that speculating on the whole mess isn't worth it, and she dutifully shows the young man a large boxed first aid kit that includes an emergency suture, along many other products, and then she follows him to the front to pay. She almost can't walk as fast as he's walking, which, considering the speed required of her typical job, is really saying something about his own sense of urgency.

As she's ringing up the order and popping the box into a large bag, even though he didn't ask for one, he nervously adjusts the collar on the shirt he's wearing, offering her a somewhat sheepish laugh. "Look, I'm sorry if I freaked you out or whatever. I'm just kind of on edge." There's no one in the store aside from them this dry, empty Sunday morning, and the radio has been out of commission for a day or two now, so to add to this atmosphere it's dead silent aside from the hum of the air handling system.

"Oh, you're fine," Grace says easily.

"No, I mean- I'm just saying. I guess I'm just kind of worried because- I mean, I'm not the one who needs stitches. It's my friend who needs stitches. But what we were doing was my idea, you know?" He hesitates, thinking about something, and then shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch to clear it, looking back at her. "I don't know, I just-" He's cut off mid-ramble by the sudden blast of Never Gonna Give You Up that it takes Grace a solid twenty-five seconds to realize is his ringtone. He jumps at the sound in the disconcertingly silent store, and frantically removes the shrill device from his pocket.

"Hello? Chris!"

Grace feels her eyebrows ascend towards her hairline. _Her_ Chris? It has to be. Nothing else would make sense in the bizarre world where she lives.

"Uh, yeah- yeah, I got it. No, it's fine. Tell him to shut up then! I'm not gonna let him do that- it was my fault. Besides, I'm already paying, anyway." He's slowly navigating the card reader prompts as he speaks into the receiver. "Say, do you have a store card here?" His eyes widen at the response he gets, looking at Grace as if he expects her to fully understand his incredulity at this news- which would be fully absurd if she wasn't such a little snoop, she thinks wryly. "I mean- you're in here all the time." It seems as if he keeps on talking faster and faster, and though Grace has only had the pleasure of knowing him for five minutes, she's beginning to realize that the speed of his words is directly related to the spinning of his brain. 

"You could be saving so much money! I bet I could figure it out for you so you'd wanna get one. And- what? Yeah, I know. It's not that serious." He hesitates to listen for a moment. "Yeah, I know- breathe." As if to prove his point he sucks in a huge breath like a vacuum cleaner and lets it all out at once, in what has to be the least effective demonstration of a calming breath that Grace has ever seen. "Got it. Yeah, well, he can whine all he wants but I won't get any faster- of course I'm on my way! Why don't you just put him on?"

He finally looks up at Grace as he moves away, holding the phone down a bit to address her instead, offering her a sheepish smile and a quick nod. "I'm sorry, miss- I gotta get going. Thanks for the help! Bye!" And he's backing away, bouncing out the door with energy only he knows the source of. Grace looks after him in mild confusion, but it's not the strangest thing that's ever happened in her store- certainly not the strangest thing connected to her rag-tag gang of Chris supporters.


	7. vi. (health foods + over protection)

Cleaning the store has to be up there on her list of least favorite things to do. At least she never gets assigned to clean the bathrooms, she supposes- as a cashier, she needs to stay near the registers, so whoever is her supervisor at the time gets that lovely duty. But, she's not excused from cleaning the windows and the freezer doors, vacuuming, wiping down the counters, dusting the shelves- it's all very chores at home, and she's not a huge fan. But, she does get paid for doing these ones. That's an upside.

She sidesteps to get out of the way of a customer brushing past her in the isle; he's on the phone and carrying a basket, but he offers her a polite nod and pardon as he slides past her down the grocery isle. Forever the nosy employee, Grace glances at his basket. A lot of healthy foods. She wrinkles her nose. Rice cakes? Styrofoam. He seems to be on a mission though. She leans into her task of dusting the end-caps on that side of the store, listening in on his side of the conversation.

"Right.... and you have the stuffing mix? I know. It's not my favorite thing either, but Josiah asked for it. And anything to keep him from offering to bring it himself, right?" Here he pauses to listen, chuckling at whatever response he got from that. "And I'll get the vegetables. I'm just at the drugstore right now. They have some pretty healthy snacks, I'm surprised. Buck would gag. Vin might too." He grins at the answer to that, moving down the isle, inspecting the salad dressings. "Yeah, I will. Okay. And Raine? I love you." There's another couple of beats, another couple of words exchanged, before he hangs up the phone call, shaking his head as he compares a vinaigrette to some kind of apple based dressing.

A moment later, his phone chimes, and he fishes it out of his pocket to squint at the screen. "Plates!" he whispers to himself, sliding the phone back into his pocket and rounding the corner. That next isle over has both alcohol and paper goods, as well as the first row of freezers. Accepting that she can no longer people watch instead of dust, she returns to her task, but abandons it yet again when she hears "Chris! What are you doing here?"

She gives up on all pretense of not listening in, moving over to a closer shelf where she has a clear line of sight down that isle. "Nathan," Chris acknowledges the tall, broad-shouldered, darker-skinned man who has stumbled upon him. "Just... grocery shopping." The last is sort of a wry comment, nodding to all the whiskey ahead of him with droll humor.

Nathan just shakes his head with a knowing smile. "We're gonna have champagne at the dinner in a couple of days. Why don't you just wait til then?"

Chris looks at him incredulously. "Do I look like somebody who drinks champagne?"

Nathan grins. "Didn't think so." He gestures further up the isle to a smaller wine section. "Look, if you're gonna buy something like that, get a big bottle of this. That way you can bring it to the dinner and you don't drink all of it."

Chris accepts the jug placed in his hands, but still looks at Nathan with sort of a challenge, looking for a way out. "Ezra isn't gonna like it."

Nathan rolls his eyes. "Ezra would find something to complain about if we were having Mary's birthday dinner at the royal dining hall."

Chris grins, nodding. "You're right."

Nathan slaps him on the shoulder, backing away. "Alright. You, that wine, and the rest of the gang, my house. Raine and I are expecting you to come and act respectable. And please don't bring food because we asked Josiah not to and we don't want him to feel like it's just him."

As if just for clarification, Chris hedges, "But it is just him, right?"

Nathan nods solemnly as he moves toward the cash register, and Grace skedaddles to get there first and seem unsuspicious. "It's just him."

This Nathan, she notes wisely, has a store card. Chris still refuses, though with minor hesitation.


	8. vii. (the permanence of family)

They've come full circle, it seems- it's the start of Spring, Colorado snow just starting to melt fully away, and temperatures just beginning to reach semi-bearable levels. Buds are out on trees, but the threat of a final frost hangs over their delicate heads. Grace has had it up to here with winter, and so has most everyone she knows. Winter had become one long endless week, as far as she could tell, especially considering the amount of weekends she worked during school- and she just wants to break away from the homogeneous nature of it all.

It's mid-morning, nearing the lunch break she was ready for hours ago, when the sliding doors welcome a customer into the store. Grace steps around the nail polish display she is monotonously re-setting to greet whoever it may be, and is met with a sight she has no idea how to respond to. It's Buck, whose face she certainly hasn't forgotten, and he's chased by- is that? She thinks that it is- by the kid with the urgent need for stitches. "JD!" Buck hollers back to the young man, "this ain't no way to treat your elders-"

He's cut off by JD slapping his hat off of his head, looking smug. Buck scowls at him, slowly bending to retrieve the questionable article- a trucker-style hat with a reference to that missing shaker of salt on the front- and replacing it with feigned dignity.

Behind the two comes Josiah and Nathan, with Ezra on their heels. The broad shouldered man and his healthy-eating companion are laughing at the scene that's unfolding, Josiah arches his eyebrows in Buck's general direction. "I think you're lucky JD is the one who went after that hat, instead of a stranger."

Nathan nods, stifling a laugh. "Not a court in the land would convict 'em."

Ezra is absently adjusting his jacket. Grace notes that he seems to be in much better health this time, and watches as he glances up towards Buck and JD without turning his head. "I myself intend to shop only in the isles you do not." He makes a show of taking a wide berth around the two as he moves further into the store. "It'd be a pity if the moment God smites you stained my clothes."

Grace turns her eyes back to the door, sensing that more had to be coming. Sure enough, her favorite regular and- who was his calm friend? Vin- enter the store, and she finally scrapes together some level of professionalism and gives Chris a nod and a cheerful, verbal welcome. He returns the greeting with a smile, and Grace feels her atmosphere change. That is the brightest she's ever seen him be- maybe that old adage about "safety in numbers" is true in more ways than one.

Unable to stop herself, not on such a wild occasion as this- the crew that she attributes Chris' improved life to all in her store together?- she stops what she's doing with the nail polish shelves, and wanders up the facial care isle, where she can hear what's happening in the hair care isle one over, and sort of see it through the expensive bottled products on her side. Vin is browsing the shampoos, and JD watches, hands on his hips.

"You have been telling us about how great it is to be off the grid and live off the land and stuff for how long," he says shrewdly, "and yet you're gonna bring shampoo?" The younger man turns to Buck, throwing his hands into the air with drama. "This is an outrage."

Vin sends a good-natured scowl in their direction, mostly unbothered by their interruption. "If you ask me," he says, glancing pointedly their way, "_roadtrip_ and _suffering_ don't have to mean the same thing." Having delivered this argument, he returns his full attention back to the shampoo.

Somewhere behind him, she hears Chris choke, huffing, "You wanna bet?" to Nathan, who doubles over laughing at the exchange.

Meanwhile, other shenanigans seem to be happening elsewhere. Grace hears the sound of products hitting the counter up front, and turns on her heel to head that way. She has a customer, one who seems relatively normal by comparison, and she calls out a quick, "I'll be right with you!" as she approaches. Passing the seasonal and toy isle, however, she's just in time to see Buck and JD miming running over one another with children's sized toy cars leftover from Christmas clearance. She can only shake her head in amusement.

Once she has tended to the needs of her lone, normal customer, she hovers about the front counter, watching eagerly down the isles she can see from her position. The men have spread out through her store, engaging in various behaviors (only some of which could be referred to reasonably as shopping), and creating cheerful havoc wherever they go. Standing near the photo machines at the end of the front counters, she can hear Chris and Josiah talking.

"Where exactly is it we're headed, brother?" comes the booming voice of Josiah.

She hears shuffling, probably the sound of Chris pulling some sort of note or visual aid out of a pocket. "It's my old cabin. "

Nathan's voice gets added in here. "Didn't realize you were a vacation-home kind of type, Chris."

"Not really a vacation place." That's Vin, and she's beginning to realize that they're inching closer, coming up the isle with all the as-seen-on-TV products in it. "It's pretty well off the grid. Kinda small too." No one seems to question how Vin knows the most about this cabin- it's a given dynamic, just as JD and Buck begging a much harried Ezra in the toy isle to decide for them who gets the insurance settlement after their hit-and-run experience is a given dynamic (one that Ezra, struggling to escape the isle of nightmares, seems desperate to ignore).

_"Gentlemen,"_ he says to them, his tone almost begging, "I implore you to unhand me. Much to my dear mother's palpable disappointment, a lawyer I did not become." They're coming up the front of the isle now, entering Grace's line of sight. She hurries to find a task behind the counter and look as any typical clerk ought to, instead of like any typical eavesdropper.

Josiah chuckles. "You've got a real lose definition of a gentleman these days, Ezra."

Ezra meets his eyes with his own brand of palpable, but clearly put-upon disappointment. "Please don't remind me."

They're now converging on the cash register, and Grace hurries over, intent on offering the best service that she can. "How are you today?" she inquires lightly, watching as they pile their items onto the counter. Nathan has a small first aid kit, and a handful of healthy snacks. Buck and JD have an armload of unhealthy snacks, and several clearance Christmas items- a ridiculous light-up Santa hat, a bunch of little party poppers left over from the New Year, and Christmas Candy galore, just to name a few.

"We're doing quite well," Josiah tells her, approaching with items of his own. A small notebook and a box of pre-sharpened pencils, a clip-on reading light from some random end-cap, and several cans of premade chili. When Nathan sees the chili, he catches Josiah's eye, a silent question clear. The bigger man just grins, good-natured humor in his tone. "Clarity's just one of the perks of praying." This cryptic acceptance of his current non-skill level in cooking elicits laughter from the others, who have finally caught up, as Grace has begin to scan the items.

After bagging only a few things, she hesitates, seeing Chris, Ezra, and Vin bringing up the rear. "Is this all together?"

Everyone turns expectant eyes on Chris, and he glanced between them all, looking put upon, but resigned.

JD pats all of his pockets for emphasis, before saying, "Yeah, I guess I forgot to bring cash... I'll pay you when we get back?"

A chorus of something to similar effect erupts from several of the others, mostly in a teasing tone. However, the group's leader surprises her when he steps up towards the counter and agrees. "If I didn't know where you all live, I wouldn't be so nice about it," he tells them. The accompanying expression makes Grace feel like her hair is uncurling, but the tone is clearly for show.

She continues scanning, trying to seem professional, hoping that one of them had ever noticed her somewhat misplaced interest in the saga of their visits to her store.

Ezra and Vin are both hanging back, forming some sort of haphazard line behind the others. Chris looks over his shoulder at them. "Yeah, that goes for both of you too. Get up here."

Vin looks very skeptical. "I brought my own money, cowboy."

Ezra feels compelled to chime in as well. "Certainly, Mr. Larabee. I have never taken a loan from anyone in my life."

_"Chris,"_ the owner of the name corrects, in a tone that sounds like pure force of habit. "And I know that. Sometimes I think you two might actually be the only other adults." He releases a long-suffering sigh at this notion.

"Hey!" Nathan interjects, "Who's getting the useful supplies here?"

Chris ignores him, but he's facing away from him, so only Grace and the two adamant self payers can see his attempt to hide a smile. "This ain't about who's got what on them. This is has just become a group trust exercise." He gestures to the counter, stepping backwards out of the way, clearing a path for the two to approach.

Ezra and Vin exchange glances, before reluctantly agreeing and placing their items onto the pile. Ezra has a lone Sudoku puzzle book, and Vin has only a jar of coffee.

"I packed coffee," Chris volunteers, glancing Vin's way.

"I know. This is _my_ coffee."

Chris nods in a _point taken_ sort of way, and turns back to the front, as Grace is ringing up the last of the items.

JD's eyes land on the coffee and his eyes widen. "Wait, I almost forgot!" and off he bounces, almost running down the isle with bottled drinks and canned goods.

The others pay little mind, used to such energy, and Buck leans around Josiah to scrutinize the counter. "Say, Chris, what are you getting?"

Chris shrugs, looking just a little awkward, which is something Grace has never seen before. "Uh- nothin'." The five expectant gazes on him leads him to say just a little more, though it's not without some hesitation. "I dunno. I never bought anything in here before, except- Jack Daniels."

Vin grins, patting him on the shoulder, just in time for JD to come back with a case of iced coffee from the shelf. "Don't worry, I'm getting enough of this for you too," the young man encourages the man in mostly black, winking at Buck as he speaks.

Chris wrinkles up his nose. "That stuff is disgusting. I'd rather just drink out of the river."

Grace is still reeling from the realization that all this time, Chris has been stocking his home with those iced coffee cases because of the young visitor at his home, and for no other reason, when she scans the final item and begins setting the bags all up onto the counter. After reading out the total, she glances up at Chris and asks what she feels, at this point, to be the million-dollar question.

"Do you have a store card with us that you'd like to use today?"

"No, I don't really-"

"Chris!" That's JD again, more adamant this time. "You still don't have a store card? I mean, it's up to you, but I'm telling you... you remember how much money I told you that you'd save if you got one, right? You should really do it."

Grace waits, holding her breath. This mission of hers is not about a credit on her record or meeting a quota. That _just passing through today_ attitude of Chris Larabee's has never sat well with her, and she senses that the others are aware of it as well. The sheer impermanence of his routine always stood out to her- and while she has watched improvement after improvement since he's acquired this group of men in his social circle, the unspoken, conscious promise in planning to return often enough to use a rewards card has become the pinnacle of success for him in Grace's mind.

Chris glances between the faces around him, finally smiling and making a _what have I got to lose_ gesture with his hands. "You know what? I guess I might as well. Let's get one."

The others are hauling the bags out to their vehicle as Grace hands over the change and the new card, briefly explaining the system and how it works. "I expect you're going to get a lot of use out of that," she tells him lightly.

As he shoves everything into his beat up wallet, he just grins and shakes his head, pausing to look after the others, who are headed out the door. "I'm pretty sure I will."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! just so you know, kudos and comments are my life-blood, so if you enjoyed, please let me know and keep me alive! xx


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